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“Mmmm?” she said hopefully.
“Weird how it turns out he works with you,” he offered with a little brow pucker.
Now it was Polly’s turn to feel like a dog waiting for her owner to deliver a treat. “Yep, sure is. Has he said much to you about his life in Sydney?”
“Not really. Just that his pop died and he wanted to take a break between contracts and try a new city.” He paused and stared down the street for a second. “He keeps getting strange messages on his phone.”
“What kind of messages?”
“I guess I shouldn’t have snooped, but he gets lots of messages, I mean,loads, and the other day he was in the shower and his phone just kept pinging, like every few seconds, so I thought maybe it was urgent, the hospital or something, and took a quick look. You should have seen the string of vitriol.”
It felt like someone had shoved ice cubes down the back of her T-shirt. “What kind of vitriol?”
“Like seriously abusive. Fuck you this and fucking hate you that. That sort of shit. Like one after the other, ping, ping, ping.”
“That’s heavy.” So was her breathing right now. Her hunch was right, then? Solo was running from some kind of trouble. “Did you tell him you’d seen them?”
“Nah, of course not. Like, what would be the point? He came in and grabbed his phone and I could tell he knew exactly what was going down. Then he just went to his room. No way, after seeing that look on his face, was I going to say a word.”
“What did he look like?”
“Completely gutted.”
